


Birthday Wishes

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-12
Updated: 2005-12-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 06:51:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12075768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: A ficlet in which Justin turns 20.





	Birthday Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Brian groans and rolls over, sounding irritable even in sleep. Justin’s eyes widen a little, and he sits back, holding his breath. The sheets are pooled around his waist, and he is careful not to shift, lest they rustle and alert Brian to his wakefulness. He is employing a very particular method of rousing Brian this morning, and he is determined that it won’t be ruined. He lifts a single finger, aligns it with Brian’s shoulder blade, and pokes, hard. 

This time Brian’s eyes fly open, green and dark, his pupils dilated. Justin raises an eyebrow.

“It’s my birthday,” he informs Brian. “I am twenty years old.”

Brian is silent for a long moment. He squints at Justin, and reaches out to run a hand along Justin’s thigh. Apparently satisfied that this is not a nightmare, Brian pinches Justin perilously close to his dick. Justin jumps and then scowls. 

“It’s my birthday,” he reminds Brian pointedly. 

“Not for another half-hour, and if you keep this up, your tombstone is going to read ‘Justin Taylor, Aged 19 years.’” Brian rolls over, burying his face in the pillow. Justin pokes his shoulder.

“You can’t kill me, it’s my birthday.” Twisting his head to face Justin, Brian frowns skeptically. 

“Are you hallucinating again? I told you not to buy drugs from Harold the Elephant Man anymore.”

“It’s like rule number three: No death on birthdays,” Justin insists, and Brian responds by tackling Justin and biting his shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise. 

“Fucker,” mumbles Justin against Brian’s arms. They both lean back against the pillows, and Brian continues to suck on the welt. His face is thoughtful when he looks up a moment later. 

“If you’re a year older, shouldn’t your cock get bigger?” Lifting the sheets, Brian peers down into the dimness with a dubious expression.

“It’s my birthday, your cock should grow.” 

“It will as soon as you put your mouth on it.” 

Brian winces and his mouth rounds into a mock ‘ow’ when Justin slaps him before leaping out of the bed. Eyes fixed on Justin’s ass as it makes its way down the stairs and into the kitchen, Brian lifts his arms above his head and stretches. 

“Make me coffee, birthday boy,” he yells in command, padding lazily into the bathroom. The delicate strains of Justin’s whistling (the tune of “Happy Birthday,” natch) drift past him, and Brian rolls his eyes. 

His grimace slides into a smirk as he hears the last note trail off in shock, a suicidal kind of descent. A minute later he is greeted with Justin’s shrewd grin, into which unseemly quantities of pastel-marshmallow-filled-cereal are being shoveled. 

Brian knows Justin won’t say anything. Won’t say, “Thanks for trekking all the way to the grocery store at four in the morning just to buy this cereal and then leaving it in the cabinet for me to find.” He knows, a little gleefully, that Justin won't tackle him and giggle and babble IloveyouIloveyouthankyou, will instead just sit there and grin at him, eyes twinkling, because Justin knows. Justin has learned. 

So Brian just smirks at these kids and their sugar intake, and receives a silent but sticky kiss in return. And another, when Justin finds the new sweatshirt in his drawer and another with some ass-groping when he finds the pile of thick white paper, charcoal pencils, and rich bright oil paints in his desk drawer. 

That kiss is sweet, so sweet it makes Brian’s sinuses burn and his nose tingle, but it quickly turns dirty and rough, biting and thrashing and fucking on the carpet under the big picture window, white flakes sweeping in thick piles and swirling through the air. 

When they’ve finished, after moving to the bed and then the shower and now they’re damp and lounging in the chaise, Brian pets Justin’s hair, yanking on a strand often enough that Justin’s scalp is tingling halfway to pain. He thinks it’s probably retaliation for poking Brian earlier. 

“I’m twenty now,” Justin slurs, huffing against Brian’s neck. Brian tweaks his ear with sharp teeth. 

“Such a big boy.” Mocking, but Justin smiles widely anyway, flopping the heels of his hands against Brian’s stomach. 

“Good presents,” he mumbles appreciatively, and Brian grins over his head where Justin can’t see. 

“Glad you approve.” 

A laugh chuffs from Brian’s throat, and Justin pokes him in the ribs, because he’s twenty now, and he can do things like that. Brian just grins and shakes his head, pulling the hood of his new blue sweatshirt over Justin's face, as their laughter echoes off the bare walls.


End file.
